


Voluntary Torture

by MarvelousMenagerie (HiddenOne)



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Grinding, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Teasing, Wings, preening
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-16 22:54:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28964223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HiddenOne/pseuds/MarvelousMenagerie
Summary: This was, Bucky decided, his worst idea yet. But a bored Tony was a dangerous Tony, and the only thing Bucky had to offer up as a distraction was his wings.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Tony Stark
Comments: 12
Kudos: 224
Collections: Winteriron Winter Stockings 2020





	Voluntary Torture

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [Wiggle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wiggle/pseuds/Wiggle) in the [winteriron_winter_stockings_2020](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/winteriron_winter_stockings_2020) collection. 



This was, Bucky decided, his worst idea yet. He bit back a scream, tension riveting up his spine.

“- walked right into the door, almost busted his teeth -”

Tony oiled another metal feather on Bucky’s left wing and gently twisted it back into alignment, all while he chattered about spring break of 1987.

Torture. Absolute torture. 

Bucky wanted to hear this story. It was going to be the only time Tony would tell this story, because Rhodes had sworn him to secrecy and now the Lieutenant Colonel was going to kill the both of them. Only Bucky wasn’t going to know what he was dying for because the only thing he could focus on was Tony’s hands on his wings and trying not to grind into the mattress.

“-it wasn’t plastic, it was a very alive, very arduous flamingo -”

Tony’s hands on him wasn’t even a novelty. The metal wings that sprouted from Bucky’s back were an engineering marvel, and it was Tony who checked over the joints, oiled his feathers, and crafted new metal pieces when needed. Being down in the workshop with Tony and the bots was one of Bucky’s favorite places, and he’d lost count of how often Tony had oiled his wings.

“- can’t blame the guy for trying, he was -”

This wasn’t the workshop. This was a cramped hotel room in downtown San Francisco where they were remaining off-grid until Natasha finished her reconnaissance. This was a shoebox that wouldn’t even let Bucky expand his wings without scraping the drab brown walls.

But if he laid out on the bed, the queen sized mattress taking up the majority of the floor space, he could arch his wings enough to let Tony get at them. Which was necessary, because a bored Tony who was trapped in a closet and forced to lay low was a dangerous Tony. And not in a fun way, not when all Bucky wanted to do was finish this damn mission and get a second of privacy so he could touch himself and come.

“- stripper found us again, and Rhodey still doesn’t believe that I didn’t -”

Bucky had offered himself up as a distraction. Or, he’d offered up his wings. Tony had whipped out a bottle of oil that he apparently always carried and climbed on top of Bucky to get at his feathers before Bucky could even get settled. Then the torture that he’d volunteered for had started.

“- didn’t even realize it was orange juice until -”

His body ached, sweat pooling on his back even as he wanted to shiver. The bed was just firm enough to tease, pressing back but not enough without Bucky grinding his hips forward. It wouldn’t take much now, just a few thrusts, and he could come apart to the feel of Tony’s hands oh so gently tugging his pinion feathers straight again. Without the clinical professionalism of the workshop, the sensations from his wings were sending him haywire. His wings were metal, but Hydra had encoded the attachments with the feeling of touch, all the better for feedback and control.

And Tony was taking his time. Each feather got individual attention, a brush of slick fingers and then tugged or twisted until it laid properly next to its neighbor. The scratch of an itch, one he didn’t even realize he had, and he wanted to sink into the touch - but couldn’t. Losing himself to the relief meant he would loose the moan in his throat or the twitch that would become a writhe.

Seconds. That’s all he needed, a few seconds, where Tony wasn’t paying him any attention and Bucky could rut against the semi-firm mattress and finally relax.

He’d never hoped for Tony not to pay attention to him before.

“- stumbled back to that very first bar, and I think the bartender almost -”

Tony took extra care with the tip of his wing, making sure the feathers were screwed in tight but not too tight, and it tingled like a warm breath on the back of his neck, threatening to kiss.

“ - and Rhodey - hey, you okay? Bucky?”

Bucky blinked and realized that he’d given himself away with a shiver.

“Yeah, fine,” he forced out through a tight throat.

“You got pain somewhere? Check-in, Buckster, and remember you can safeword at anytime.” Tony’s fingers tapped against a strut that was the framework for his wing, only felt by the soft vibrations on the surrounding feathers.

“All good,” Bucky promised, praying to whatever deities existed that he held himself together. Tony’s mouth was just as unfair as his hands. “Just tense.”

“If I have any oil leftover I can swing a back massage, no problem.”

Bucky swallowed a whimper.

“Now, where we at the part with the pet pig yet, or -”

Tony’s hands returned, preening with care as if the sharp edges of the metal feathers wouldn’t slice those clever fingers to ribbons. Trusting Bucky not to move without warning, to not use his dangerous wings as the lethal instrument that Hydra intended. Taking all the time in the world, because Tony had nowhere to be and nothing to do other than check over each of Bucky’s feathers.

Tony hadn’t touched his right wing yet. 

Bucky cursed his fate as Tony continued to tell the crazy story that he couldn’t hear and would never remember. All he could feel was Tony’s fingers on his wings, and then Tony shifted. Knees bracketed Bucky’s hips, pressing close, Tony’s warmth close enough to bake into his body. 

Absolute torture.

He couldn’t stop the tiniest thrust of his hips into the mattress, sure he was going to come.


End file.
